Toy Soldiers
by Philote
Summary: It was just like a big foster home. Or it would be, if the state were to sanction two guys with a questionable past who trained their charges to be soldiers in a supernatural war. Future-fic.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Toy Soldiers

Author: Philote

Rating: PG-13 (T)

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of _Supernatural_ do not belong to me. Neither does the brief _Buffy _reference. I make no money from this story. Please don't sue.

Summary: It was just like a big foster home. Or it would be, if the state were to sanction two guys with a questionable past who trained their charges to be soldiers in a supernatural war. Future-fic.

Author's Notes:

1. I started this a while ago (like between season 2 & 3!) and kept telling myself I would eventually work on it. But I never had the time. I finally rescued it off my hard drive and started to flesh it out. I hope to play in this little 'verse for a while.

2. Jaime is an OC; the other 'kids' are canon, plucked from various episodes. For most their ages were never clearly stated, so I've estimated. This is set in the future, so picture them all about 10 years older.

3. This part posted for the 'hide and seek' challenge at Taming the Muse.

oOo

Chapter 1

oOo

"Here we are. Home sweet home."

Jaime leaned forward to peer between the front seats as the old SUV turned down the long drive. He carefully kept his face neutral, trying to conceal his nervous apprehension as he took in the looming lodge that was peeking out from the trees. The sun was setting, and silhouetted against the fast-darkening sky the large building and the woods around it were all the more imposing.

They'd left the nearest town over thirty minutes ago. There'd been virtually no signs of civilization since. And with the way Dean was driving, he suspected it was normally more of an hour-long trip. This place was completely isolated.

He sat back in the seat, breathing a bit quick. The numbness was slipping again, allowing traces of fear to trickle in along with the pain. He busied himself calculating hours and wondering when he could have another pain pill.

In the passenger seat, Michael twisted to look back at him. "You okay back there, kid?"

Jaime tipped his chin up and nodded. Michael gave him a look that clearly said he wasn't buying it, but he turned back anyway. Jaime wanted to say something clever and appropriately snarky in return, perhaps something about how the difference between nineteen and fifteen wasn't really sufficient to be referring to someone as 'kid.' But he wasn't that comfortable with Michael yet. Besides, he suspected that the older boy had seen enough to qualify him for wisdom beyond his years.

"Did you call ahead?" Michael asked their driver.

Dean shrugged. "Nah. I talked to Sam a couple days ago; he knows we're on our way back."

"Maybe I should call."

Jaime caught a glimpse of Dean's smirk in the rearview mirror. "No one's gonna shoot at us."

"Yeah, 'cause that's never happened."

"Kat's on a job in St. Louis with Lucas. I think we're good."

Jaime glanced between them uneasily, wondering for a split second if it was too late to fling the door open and make a run for it.

Technically, he was a runaway. They'd had no legal right to take him and he was underage, so if this were to ever play out in some legal arena he supposed they could be charged with kidnapping. But there wasn't anyone to look past 'runaway,' and he knew he would be written off as such.

And as such, if he'd let himself be led out to the middle of nowhere to be hacked into itty bitty pieces, he doubted anyone would even care to solve his murder.

Was he crazy? He'd known these guys for two weeks. They'd saved his life, and instinct had told him he'd be better off with them than social services. But what did he really know about them? They'd been telling him stories, stories he believed to be true despite their outlandish content. He sort of wished he could go back to blissful ignorance. He knew better than to think that was possible.

And he also knew that his life had all but evaporated, and what he had left was the duffle bag at his feet and the two men in the front seat. He trusted them, even if he couldn't explain it. What he was a little concerned about was this whole new world he was stepping into.

Dean pulled off of the drive to park beside a couple of cars, both of which looked as if they'd been rescued from the junk heap. Up close, the building was actually pretty inviting. It wasn't in stellar condition, but it wasn't falling down, either. A gentle tendril of smoke rose from the chimney.

As the other two unbuckled seatbelts, Jaime spoke to cover his nerves. "You weren't kidding about the middle-of-nowhere part, huh?"

"Nope," Dean said simply.

Michael, of course, expounded on it. "Think of it as a big, drawn-out game of hide and seek. When we're out on hunts, it's our turn to seek. But when it comes to home, we don't really want to be found."

"So…are you winning?"

"Sometimes."

"Mikey," Dean stated warningly. Michael made a face, clearly less than fond of the nickname, but he shut up. Dean turned back to Jaime. "You're safe here, Jaime. As safe as we can make you."

Jaime wasn't sure if that made him feel better, but he attempted to smile. Dean nodded and pushed open his door, stepping from the SUV.

Michael opened his as well but turned back to add, "It's true. Couldn't call it home otherwise." He didn't wait for a response before disappearing out the door.

Jaime clamored out of his seatbelt to slide out, the heavy cast serving as a constant reminder as he moved. His right hand was dominant, and he rather missed using it. The wrist had twisted violently and been badly sprained, though the actual break was a little further up his arm. The cast neared his elbow, irritating even the healthy skin whenever he bent his arm. He had no experience with injuries like this, but if the severity of the pain was any indication, he doubted it would ever function quite the same again.

His left hand was weak and didn't seem to be learning to compensate. He wrestled with his heavy duffle bag, having to use the cast to help nudge it towards his left shoulder. He was relieved when Dean stepped closer and snagged the strap, settling it for him. He didn't try to take it. Jaime gave him a brief smile, perhaps more for the understanding than for the actual gesture.

Dean snagged his own bag from the back, then gave him a pat on the back and a bit of a push towards the front door. "Come on. We'll show you around; introduce you to the rest of the Scooby gang."

Behind them, Michael gave a little snort of laughter as he shut the hatch and locked the car before hurrying to catch up.

Dean rolled his eyes. "It's Tyler's nickname, not mine."

"You're the one who bought her the Buffy DVD's."

"They were used and cheap. And it's not like we get cable out here."

"Really? I kinda thought they were training videos."

"Smartass," Dean tossed backwards. "Don't listen to him."

They climbed the few steps to the porch. Dean fished into his pockets, pulling out multiple keys. Jaime watched in fascination as he undid not one but three separate deadbolts before reaching for the knob. He stepped aside and let Michael enter first, then he glanced back at Jaime expectantly.

But Jaime hesitated, suddenly feeling sick. His stomach churned with what were quickly becoming very familiar feelings—uncertainty, desperation, fear. He felt like a little kid, wanting his Mom. He wanted to go home.

But home didn't exist anymore.

Dean's expression was sympathetic. "I know, kid. I know." He held out an arm.

Jaime took a deep breath and edged forward, letting Dean guide him inside.

oOo

3


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Toy Soldiers (Part 2/?)

Author: Philote

Rating: PG-13 (T)

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of _Supernatural_ do not belong to me. I make no money from this story. Please don't sue.

Summary: It was just like a big foster home. Or it would be, if the state were to sanction two guys with a questionable past who trained their charges to be soldiers in a supernatural war. Future-fic.

Author's Note: This part posted for the 'window' prompt at Taming the Muse. Jaime is an OC; the other 'kids' are canon, plucked from various episodes. For most their ages were never clearly stated, so I've estimated. This is set in the future, so picture them all about 10 years older.

oOo

Chapter 2

oOo

"Sammy, we're home," Dean called as they moved into the foyer.

And Jaime was seriously expecting a pretty, motherly woman to stroll in from the kitchen wiping her hands on a dishtowel. He was thus surprised when the person who appeared was decidedly male. There was also no strolling involved, just a bit of rolling.

"Back in one piece, I see," the man said, smiling as he maneuvered the wheelchair closer with a well-practiced hand. The words were flippant, but relief was clear in his tone. Ironically enough, he did have a dishtowel tossed over one shoulder.

"Sorry, no sewing for you this time. I know how you like it." Dean stepped closer and mussed his hair, sidestepping the half-hearted slap that was aimed his way and returning the grin. It was perhaps the easiest, most real emotion Jaime had seen from him. He turned, gesturing as he made introductions. "Sam, Jaime. Jaime, my brother Sam."

Sam's expression was gentle, as if he knew exactly how Jaime had come to be there. "Hey, Jaime. You gonna be staying with us for awhile?"

He tried to smile in return and stuttered awkwardly, "I guess. If that's all right, I mean."

"Of course. Make yourself at home."

It was a nice sentiment, but Jaime was far too unsettled to find it much more than ironic. He thanked Sam anyway, manners automatic even as his eyes wandered over the hallway. Sam had emerged from an opening on the left. There was also a wide doorway on the right, through which he glimpsed a fireplace. There were other, smaller doorways further in, as well as a staircase snaking up out of sight.

"Is Matt back?" Dean was asking Sam.

"Early this afternoon. He's resting."

"And was _he_ in one piece?"

Sam hesitated for a moment too long before he shrugged. "A few stitches. He'll be fine."

"I'll show Jaime around," Michael volunteered to the two older men, snagging Jaime's sleeve and tugging him towards the room with the fireplace. Jaime shrugged his bag further onto his shoulder and followed.

"Yeah, thanks Michael." After a moment's deliberation Dean added, "Put him in with Lucas, all right?"

"There's leftovers in the 'fridge when you guys are hungry," Sam added.

"We stopped on the way," Michael called back.

"French fries and cheeseburgers?" Sam guessed correctly, disapproval in his tone

Dean sighed. "Can we argue about nutrition for growing boys later? Tired, here." He dipped his chin a little, looking at his brother with a slightly pitiful expression. "Long hunt…and all that."

Jaime watched, a little amused as the guy who'd impressed him as a solid, tough-as-nails soldier tried to avoid chastisement. Sam clearly wasn't buying it, merely arching an eyebrow.

Michael gave him another tug, pulling him away from the brothers and into the living room. It was spacious, warm with the fire and surprisingly homey.

There was a guy on the couch, odd-looking metal parts spread out on the coffee table in front of him. Jaime had never actually seen a gun disassembled, so it took the sight of three other pistols sitting to the side for him to realize that he was cleaning the weapons.

Michael walked around to face him. "You missed a spot."

"Mikey," the guy greeted with a smirk eerily reminiscent of Dean's. "Back already?"

Michael gritted his teeth. "This is Benji," he offered with a smirk of his own.

It earned him a hard smack on the leg, which in turn warranted a kick from Michael that was easily deflected. "Ben," the guy corrected. "You're Jaime?"

"Yeah." Jaime shifted uneasily, unable to tell if this was a friendly rivalry or if there was a real undercurrent of dislike between them.

Ben nodded. "Welcome."

He smiled tightly in response. Ben's attention shifted back to the gun. Apparently, he was a man of few words.

Jaime spun in a slow circle to take in the room. Past the fireplace was another sitting area surrounded by overfilled bookshelves. A lamp drew his eyes back to the chairs, and to the girl seated in the corner.

She was perfectly quiet and still, blinking at him unnervingly. She looked a little younger than him at first glance, but her petite size and the braided pigtails probably had something to do with that.

Michael made his way over to her and reached to tug on a pigtail. "This is Tyler. Wait until you get to know her; you'll never get her to shut up."

Tyler rolled her eyes and blushed faintly, but she didn't duck away from the affection. "Hi," she finally offered, her voice soft.

"Hi," Jaime repeated awkwardly.

Luckily, Michael had a way of blowing past awkwardness without even noticing it. He exchanged some teasing with Tyler and a few smart remarks with Ben before ushering Jaime back into the hallway where Dean was still quietly conversing with Sam. "Hey, Jaime. Let us know if you need anything, okay?" Sam offered. Jaime just nodded.

Michael steered him towards the stairs. "You need a hand?" he asked, gesturing to the bag.

"I'm okay," Jaime said stubbornly, determined to keep his possessions close.

"Okay." He placed a hand on Jaime's back, encouraging him to lead the way, not so subtly bracing him. Apparently, he looked as shaky as he felt.

He made it on his own power though. In the upstairs hallway, Michael pointed out the bathroom and then led him into the first room on the right.

The colors of the sunset had vanished, leaving only dusk and shadows cast through the window. Michael flipped on the light. "Lucas will be your roommate, but he'll probably be gone for a few more days. It'll give you a little time to adjust. Drop you bag anywhere."

Jaime set it down carefully near the wall and looked over the room. There were two beds, one haphazardly made with a couple of books and a sketchpad tossed near the pillow. The other held a bare mattress. "That'll be yours," Michael said needlessly as he walked past him. "Let me get you some sheets and stuff."

Left alone for the first time, Jaime just stood. He felt exhaustion creeping up to claim him, but he couldn't collapse yet. He gazed around, noting the small desk and chair and the open closet door.

His eyes caught on the wall beside Lucas' bed. Dozens of papers were tacked directly to the wall, undoubtedly creating permanent holes. He could just imagine his parents' reaction if he'd ever decorated like this. He felt a twinge in his chest at the thought of his parents, so he pushed it aside by looking more closely at the pictures. He soon concluded that if he'd drawn stuff like this, he'd have been rushed to a shrink.

Some of the pictures were benign, images of houses and scenery. But they were outnumbered by far more disturbing drawings. Monsters a child might imagine, depicted with far more detail and skill. Victims of all sizes and color. There was an awful lot of red…blood.

Jaime shuddered involuntarily.

Michael returned, a pile of sheets and blankets heaped in his arms. He followed Jaime's gaze. "Yeah, the wallpaper's a little interesting. Don't worry; he doesn't enjoy them. He just needs to figure them out. He takes them down once we identify them."

"They need identifying? Like…they're real?"

Michael hesitated. "Lucas kind of has a gift."

Jaime stared at the pictures, trying to wrap his mind around what Michael was suggesting. It was disturbing, how easy he accepted it. "I think I'd give it back if I were him."

"Some days, I'm sure he'd like to."

Michael patted him on the back and turned to the bed. Jaime watched dully for a few moments before moving to help. "You don't have to," Michael said as he reached for the edge of the fitted sheet.

"But I can," Jaime insisted, tugging the sheet over with his left arm. But he couldn't, not with his left hand, and he awkwardly tried to use the fingers protruding from his cast to assist. It pulled on the injury, and he hissed with the reawakened pain.

"Jaime. I got it, okay?" It was phrased like a question, gentle enough, but the tone broached no argument. Jaime finally acquiesced, stepping back with a nod. His arm throbbed.

Michael was surprisingly efficient at bed making. It seemed like kind of an odd skill for a guy who fought monsters. Telling himself that he shouldn't stare, Jaime shifted his attention. He couldn't keep it from landing on the wall of horror.

Michael tossed the pillow on the bed and came around to stand beside him. "Look on the bright side—you could be stuck with Matt and his bug collection."

"Bugs?"

Michael rolled his eyes dramatically. "Everywhere."

"Don't believe him. He loves the bugs."

Jaime jumped and spun towards the door, heart skipping a beat. Michael just turned with a grin. "Hey, it lives."

Then the guy, who Jaime presumed was Matt, stepped forward into the light. Jaime couldn't help but cringe. Michael winced and cursed before amending, "Or not. What did you do? Let a werewolf use you as a chew toy?"

Matt seemed older. Mid-20's, maybe? It was kind of hard to judge someone's age when their face was a mass of cuts and bruises. "It's good to see you alive and well too, Mikey." There was no censure in the tone, just weary sarcasm. He stepped through the doorway and held out an arm in Michael's direction.

Jaime noticed absently that for the first time, Michael didn't react to the nickname. He didn't even seem to mind. He moved closer, close enough for Matt to squeeze his shoulder and use him as support instead of the doorframe.

Raising his eyes, the older man nodded once over Michael's head. "Hey, I'm Matt."

Jaime nodded. "I figured. I'm Jaime."

Matt raised an eyebrow. "You've already heard stories about me, haven't you? Don't believe them, especially from this guy."

Jaime cracked a small smile. "I've heard about nothing but bugs."

"Hey, we're only talking about a few jars. You should've seen my room when I was your age. He's just upset because they prefer his bed."

"Yeah, because _someone_ taught them to."

Matt raised an amused eyebrow at Michael. "Taught them? Maybe the _someone_ who's always leaving crumbs all over the sheets?" To Jaime he added, "I'm not a bug whisperer."

Jaime forced a little laugh, half-afraid that there actually might be such a thing.

"All right, all right," Michael interjected, shaking his head. "We should call it an early night. The wounded among us need some sleep."

"Fair enough," Matt admitted, rubbing a hand lightly against his ribs. "Did you tell him about the window and door?"

"I was getting there." Michael started to move, then hesitated. "If I step away, are you going to fall on your face?"

"No," Matt scoffed. He released Michael, wavered for a moment, then stepped back to lean against the wall.

Michael eyed him warily before he started looking around the room. "Okay. Somewhere around here he should have…" he trailed off, spotting something near the other bed. "There it is."

He came up with a container of salt. Jaime stared. "We're going to cook?"

"Not exactly." He crossed to the window, popping the carton open and pouring a straight line of salt across the sill. "A lot of things can't cross a salt line." Had they done this in the hotel room they'd stayed in last night? If so, Jaime had been too out-of-it to notice. Michael continued, "After we leave, put a line in front of the door too. If you go out, make sure you step over. The line's worthless if it's broken."

"But…we're on the second story." Jaime watched uneasily as the other two exchanged a glance.

"It's just extra precaution," Matt piped in. "And a good habit to get into for anytime you're in a place that's not so fortified."

Fortified? He wondered what other safeguards he hadn't yet seen, but he didn't ask. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know. He just nodded silently.

"Hey." Michael's expression softened a bit as he set the salt down and stepped closer. "I know it's all crazy right now. But it'll be okay."

Jaime dropped his gaze to the carpet, unable to meet Michael's eyes. He might be a bit of a smartass, but there was a very caring man underneath. This was the guy who'd held him as he screamed on the floor of his father's study, who'd contained him and let him fight and comforted him when he had nothing left but tears. He felt his eyes prickle now as Michael slipped an arm around him. "You want us to stay for a bit?"

Jaime sucked in a shaky breath and shook his head. "No. Thanks, but I am pretty tired."

Michael nodded, squeezing him once before releasing him. "Okay. Take a pain pill, all right? Get some rest."

"We're right next door if you need us," Matt offered softly, teetering such that Michael grabbed onto him again and supported him out the door. He turned, offering Jaime a smile and a "Good night, kid," as he pulled the door closed.

Jaime stared after them until he realized that he too was wavering on his feet. It was early, but he was exhausted. He wanted to sleep, but he knew shutting his eyes would probably be a traumatic experience.

He sighed and turned to the window. Darkness had completely fallen now. He pulled the desk chair over and sat on his knees, peering out into the wilderness.

Without breaking the salt line, he laid a finger on the sill and rolled a couple of grains under his finger. He wasn't sure what to do with a world in which salt was his best defense against very real things that go bump in the night. He gazed out into the darkness. What else was out there? Would he ever feel safe again?

If even half of the things on his new bedroom wall were real, he knew the answer was no.

oOo

5


End file.
